Christmas Unexpected
by Salome Weil
Summary: 8th year has been going about as expected for Hermione - quiet, nose to the books, mild socializing with friends no longer at Hogwarts - but Christmas is another matter entirely. When the unexpected happens, will it add a little merriment to the season, or will it change how she views the holidays entirely? Perhaps it will do a little of both... T for mild mature ref. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the HP universe or franchise; all rights to JK, Scholastic, & Warner Bros. **

**AN: This little dream has been banging around my head since Christmas, but I'm just now getting it finished. It's a little sweet, a little innocent, and lots of fluff. Hope you enjoy. Happy belated holidays, all.**

* * *

Hermione had to stand on her tiptoes _and_ stretch hard to reach the branch, but once she'd slipped the ornament hook onto it and stood back to admire her work, it was definitely worth the struggle. She allowed herself a small smile as she watched the golden globe twirl in the air before turning back to the box of ornaments at her feet and bending down to retrieve another. She was wrist deep in ornaments when a voice from her nightmares - just as snide as it had always been, and she would certainly never _let on_ she heard it in nightmares - sounded from behind her.

"Decorating by hand? And just when I thought maybe you were more witch than muggle -"

" _Silencio!"_ Hermione whirled about, balanced on the balls of her feet, wand in hand and thrust out in front of her.

Draco Malfoy found himself summarily silenced. Instead of launching himself at her in protest as she'd expected, however, he pressed his lips together in a thin line, raised a brow at her, and rocked back on his heels. She took a good look at him before cautiously standing and straightening her shoulders. She kept her wand out.

He wasn't wearing his robes, his slacks were slightly rumpled, his cuffs were unbuttoned, and one lock of hair hung stubbornly over his forehead. He had his hands shoved in his pockets and though he looked put out, he didn't look angry.

Resigned, maybe, but not angry.

Hermione lifted her hand and waved her wand casually, releasing the spell. His other brow joined the first, high on his forehead. Then he surprised her further by bowing with a flourish.

"Your magnanimousness," he said, glancing up from his bow with a crooked, uncertain grin on his lips.

Hermione huffed some and put her wand away.

"Is there a reason you're here, Malfoy?"

She was in the common room the Eighth Years shared, decorating as best she could for a season she wasn't feeling particularly cheerful over this year...for various reasons, of course, but primarily because she'd deliberately chosen to stay at Hogwarts for the duration rather than go home.

Mostly because she didn't have a home to return to, since her parents were still in Australia under assumed names and had no idea she existed, and also because the thought of pretending everything was ok at the Weasley home when Ron and Harry would be away for most of the break on Auror training made her stomach turn.

Ginny had tried to promise her it was alright and that she should come, but she'd just shook her head and insisted she'd be fine. And so she had been...until it became obvious that at least one other student was staying for the break that she'd really, _really_ hoped would have gone home.

Draco shrugged and straightened up too. It occurred to Hermione that he was actually taller than her. She didn't know why that hadn't mattered before. Maybe because she'd always had two best friends surrounding her that were also taller than her. Maybe because up until the Year from Hell, as she privately referred to it, she'd felt just as tall as any of the bastards who constantly tried to keep her down.

"I wanted to get work done. Hard to concentrate when everyone is talking about you behind your back."

"And to your face," Hermione shot back. "But then, you're an expert at it. I'm surprised you don't just join in," she snarked, crossing her arms.

Draco rolled his eyes and moved past her, giving her wide berth. He stopped on the opposite side of the box of ornaments and glanced down.

"Need any help?"

"No."

"Do you want any help?"

"No."

"Look, Granger -"

"Not today, Malfoy," Hermione interrupted. "I had to deal with so much horseshit from you my entire school career and then I had to deal with your family's horseshit last year and I am done even pretending to be civil. You want to spend time in my company? You're going to have to earn it, though God only knows why you would want to spend time with the likes of a _mudblood_ like me, right?"

Draco was not to be deterred, it seemed. He shoved his hands further into his pockets and stepped back a few feet. There was a gleam in his eyes, but what it was from, Hermione didn't know and didn't care. She eyed him and it wasn't even warily at this point. Resigned, like he had been, maybe. She sighed and then ran a hand up and into her kinky, curly hair, accidentally pulling a few of the dark brown strands free of their makeshift ponytail.

When Draco merely looked at her expectantly, she sighed again and then knelt by the box to draw another ornament from its depths. Taking her time with placement, it was three or four minutes into her careful decorating that he decided to speak again.

"You're not wearing your glasses," he said and sounded surprised.

"Oh, bravo. I haven't worn them all semester and you're only noticing now?" She huffed, attempting to reach another branch slightly out of her grasp.

There was a noisy sigh and then she felt a figure close to her - too close - and then his hand was plucking the ornament from her fingers and placing it on the desired branch for her. As soon as it was safely nestled in the tree, she whirled about and shoved at him. He stumbled a little, but stepped back from her quickly.

"I didn't ask you for help," she said.

"I'm sorry!" he replied and his voice was defiant and angry and all the things she'd expected it to be earlier...except he was apologizing. And it seemed that once the first words were out, they started an avalanche of repressed feelings and guilt that she'd suspected, but certainly hadn't _known_ , he harbored.

"I'm sorry for trying to help," he snapped. "I'm sorry for invading your space. I'm sorry for being a complete arse to you for years. I'm sorry my family is full of murdering criminals. I'm sorry I was too afraid to be anything but one of them for years. I'm sorry you have PTSD and hate me and there's nothing I can ever say or do that will convince you of how sorry I really am. I wish I could redo it all. I'm sorry," he ended, his voice hoarse.

Hermione could only stare at him, eyes wide in confusion, lips pursed in disbelief as she tried to hang onto every reason she'd given herself in the past for hating him and his whole family. No, not for hating them - for pretending like they didn't even exist, because to hate them would mean she was expending energy on them and _he wasn't worth it._

At least, he hadn't been worth it before.

She tried to muster up some of that old feeling and only felt so shocked that everything else seemed to drain away.

"Well, good for you," she finally managed half-heartedly, and turned from him to stomp back over to the box of ornaments.

He let out a strangled laugh and collapsed into a nearby chair, head in his hands and shoulders shaking. She wondered briefly if he was crying, decided she didn't want to care, and focused on which ornament to choose next.

Finally he seemed to pull himself from whatever moment he'd been having and he looked back up, still hunched over, arms still propped across his knees, and one hand covering his mouth as he watched her work in silence. She glanced at him as she moved between the tree and the box, her eyes darting away quickly when she realized he was still watching her.

After some minutes, he finally spoke again and his voice was quiet, bearing none of the snide tone she'd recognized from earlier.

"I suppose I deserved that," he admitted finally and her brows knit together for a moment as she managed another difficult placement.

"More than," she replied crisply. She could feel his eyes on her still and suddenly felt her face growing warm. She hoped to god he couldn't tell she was blushing.

If he could tell, he didn't seem to care.

"So, you know why I'm here for the break," he said after another minute or two. "Why are you here, Granger?"

"Does it matter?" she asked, her voice even despite the deepening flush of her body. She could feel her neck growing warm beneath her collar and she cursed inwardly. Was she growing heated because she liked his attention, or because he was making her angry and uncomfortable? She couldn't tell and wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"Of course it matters. I need to know if you've been abandoned by your swotty little friends or if it's by choice because you heard I was staying and wanted to, you know…"

There was that snide tone and lost bravado from minutes before. Hermione sniffed disdainfully and ignored the fact that Draco had leaned back in the chair, hands crossed behind his head, legs spread wide, an inviting and suggestive smile on his face.

"What, no insult? Be still, my heart!" Draco cried melodramatically from his seat.

Hermione disappeared around the other side of the tree and bit her lip to stifle the sudden, betraying giggle that had almost escaped her mouth. What was wrong with her? What was wrong with him? Eighth Year with the pissant Draco Malfoy was as far from romcom as she could get and yet he was treating this like a meet-cute!

"Insufferable git," she muttered under her breath.

"I heard that!" came the cry from the other side.

Hermione stuck her head round the tree and frowned.

"I knew you were staying, Malfoy," she said. "When I asked earlier I really meant, why are you in here, with me, right now? God!"

She disappeared again and began fiddling with the paper chains draped along some of the boughs.

There was a long stretch of silence, which unfortunately meant Draco had not exited the room, but at least he was being quiet. Then she heard the dreaded shuffling sounds of someone standing up, followed by the clip of shoes along the floor. Unfortunately, they were coming nearer, not moving away. She turned to face him, hands on her hips, ready to do battle again.

Draco looked defeated already, but just as prepared for a battle as she felt.

"This is a shared common area," he informed her seriously. "That's why I'm in here. Believe me, if I'd known it was going to lead to such inconvenient truths as have already occurred, I'd have steered clear."

"Fine," she replied shortly. "But just because we're in here at the same time doesn't mean we have to interact. I don't want your help, I didn't ask for it, and I really don't care that you feel guilty for what an arse you were for years. So just...keep it to yourself. We are not friends."

"I didn't say we were, Granger!"

"You're acting like you want to be! And I don't! I never wanted anything to do you with you before and that has _never_ changed. Now may I please decorate my tree in peace?"

If Hermione thought Draco Malfoy were capable of being hurt by someone else's words, his expression came the closest to it she'd ever seen before. She felt a twinge of something and nearly relented. Nearly.

She'd meant what she'd said, earlier. That if he ever wanted to have any sort of even _working_ relationship with her he was going to have to earn it. And what he'd have to do to earn it? She'd never even given that thought before, because the likelihood of there ever being anything between them was as farfetched as Voldemort doing the right thing in the end.

Now, the Draco Malfoy standing before her didn't seem to know what he wanted, except for the last decade to have not existed. He finally let out a long breath, then shoved both hands in his pockets, turned from her, and walked away. Hermione watched him go, wondered briefly why it felt like watching Ron walk away when he was in one of his hang-dog moods, and then turned back to the box of ornaments.

She was going to have a little Christmas cheer for herself if it killed her.

* * *

Draco Malfoy seemed determined to keep the Christmas cheer away from her if it killed him. She'd finished decorating the tree in the common room hours ago and had sat admiring it happily for quite some time, nestled in a chair nearby with hot tea in hand and biscuits and a book that lay forgotten upon her lap. The fire had cracked cheerfully in the hearth and its light had played along the ornaments dotting the tree's branches.

She'd been almost content. Not happy - she wasn't sure if she was going to be really happy again for a very long while - but content was something less fleeting. It was something worth hanging onto and she'd been happy to drowse there, crumbs littering her skirt and legs tucked up, admiring the last vestige of Christmases from ages past that existed for her.

The ornaments were all her own, after all.

But now? Now she was in the great hall, seated at a table a little ways from some of the other students who had stayed for the holiday, and trying to force herself to eat something of the small dinner that had been prepared for them. Now, she could see Draco Malfoy making his way through the double doors and toward her table...and of course, he was sitting across from her.

She gripped her fork a little harder and stabbed a piece of ham, then a piece of potato, then some carrot, and shoved the whole thing in her mouth. Chewing furiously, she darted her gaze to Draco, who was calmly piling food on his plate and studiously ignoring her. Huh. Well, she could studiously ignore with the best of them.

A little more slowly, Hermione proceeded to polish off the rest of the food on her plate and then wash it all down with the cider in front of her. When she darted her gaze to Draco once again, it was to find him quietly eating his food, a book propped open in front of him.

He looked up.

She looked back down the table at the other students. Then she looked away, toward the entrance of the hall. Then she stared at her empty plate.

"Not having dessert?"

"It hasn't appeared yet," she pointed out, attempting to keep her voice indifferent. She wasn't sure she succeeded, but when she met his gaze again he seemed suitably uninterested, yet surprised.

"So it hasn't," he replied, and went back to his own plate and his book.

Hermione felt compelled to say something else. "I'm not sure I'm hungry for any, to be honest. I had quite a few biscuits with my tea, earlier."

Draco flicked his gaze to her and nodded impassively, then returned to his book once more. Hermione watched him shovel his fork back and forth from his plate to his mouth for a moment. Then she gave herself a slight shake and started to get up.

Dessert of course decided to arrive just then. And of course it would be mousse.

Of course.

Hermione paused in the act of getting up, then sat back down. A small bowl and spoon appeared before her and she reached over to help herself. Her eyes traveled over Draco briefly and found him looking at her again, an amused glint in his eyes.

"I changed my mind," she said, irritated.

"You're welcome to," he replied around a mouthful of food. Not unlike Ron would've.

Hermione gave herself a slight shake again and spooned some mousse into her bowl. Chocolate. Not her absolute favorite, but still…

"It's my favorite," she offered, not sure why. "Not chocolate. But mousse, in general."

"I didn't say anything," Draco said. The amusement was outright, now. Hermione huffed a little and tucked into her bowl.

"But it's really just glorified pudding," he said, interrupting her first, divine bite.

"And you're just a glorified ferret," Hermione shot back without thinking. She closed her mouth around her second spoonful. Then she heard a snickering noise and glanced up to see Draco covering his mouth, trying not to laugh.

When he'd straightened himself out, he gazed at her seriously. "That was a very painful moment of my life, I'll have you know," he said.

"Not as painful as that whole year was for Harry," Hermione replied, equally serious, and whatever amusement had been on Draco's face drained away. He held her gaze for a long moment, but whatever he was trying to communicate was lost on her and their long, dark history. After several seconds, he turned back to his food and book, leaving her staring at the top of a blonde head of hair.

Convinced he'd finally leave her alone, Hermione did the same, returning her spoon to her bowl with gusto and praying that would be that.

* * *

That _wasn't_ that, much to her irritation. In fact, when Hermione tiptoed into the common room hours later, her robe tied snugly about her, she supposed she shouldn't even be surprised that Draco was sitting in the very chair she'd vacated hours earlier. Enjoying a mug of cocoa, with a book on his lap. Enjoying the sparkle of the slowly dying fire upon the ornaments and along the flushed cranberries she'd confiscated for some good, old-fashioned strung decorations. Frustrated, she moved past him to sit in a different chair and summoned her own mug of cocoa.

"Of course you would take the most comfortable chair with the best vantage point," she groused and Draco spared her a glance.

"Of course you would walk in on a bloke trying to quietly study and assume he wanted interrupting," he returned, but his voice wasn't as snide as usual. Instead, he just sounded tired. Hermione shifted some, tucking her legs beneath her, then wrapped both hands around her mug. She snorted softly.

"Pardon me," she muttered into her mug. Draco scoffed at that and closed his book.

"No pardon necessary." He took another sip of his cocoa and glanced at her again. "Couldn't sleep?"

Hermione felt her throat constrict without warning and pressed her lips together. Oh, gods. She wasn't going to do this _now_. She shook her head sharply and buried her nose back in her mug. After a moment, she managed a hoarse, "You?"

"I have trouble sleeping, in general," Draco said. "But it got exponentially worse Sixth Year and, well…" His voice trailed off and he shrugged as indifferently as possible.

Hermione darted her gaze back to the tree and felt tears continue to threaten. "Well, that's one thing."

"That we have in common?" Draco finished for her, astute as always. "I imagine we have it in common with most of the student body."

"Quite." Hermione kept her eyes glued to the tree and lifted her mug to her lips again. She pretended she couldn't feel Draco watching her. She pretended she couldn't feel anything, but it didn't seem to have any effect on the threatening tears. Then, much to her horror, she felt one escape. It worked its way out of the inner corner of her eye and ran slowly down the side of her nose. She lifted a hand and hastily wiped it away.

"Nightmares?" Draco asked, breaking the awkward silence. "I don't get them. Sometimes I think there's something wrong with me, that all those things I saw and did don't come back to me in the middle of the night, scaring me awake."

Hermione took another sip of cocoa and closed her eyes, willing the rest of the tears away. She tried to focus on the sound of Draco's voice, on how resigned he was, on the way his voice was even and clear despite the subject. She took one steadying breath, then another. Draco spoke again.

"For me...it's the quiet. In the middle of the night, when you can't hear anything else. When everything is still, and the darkness is drowning you. I was always surrounded by quiet and dark when the worst things were about to happen. It's that stillness - the calm before the storm." He drew a ragged breath and the tenor of his voice grew uneven, finally. "Sometimes I think it's going to drive me mad."

Hermione knew exactly what he meant, but she somehow couldn't bring herself to say so. Instead, she looked at the tree before them and allowed the soft, glittering lights and the warmth of the room suffuse her.

"I don't have a home to go to for the holidays," she announced, as though to no one in particular.

She could feel Draco's gaze again, prickling her skin, and focused harder on the tree.

"The Weasleys invited me, of course. And Harry insisted there would be room at the flat he and Ron are sharing. But what I really wanted this year was to just be _home_ , and it wouldn't have been the same. So, as I can't be home, I stayed here."

Finally confident her tears were under control, Hermione turned her head and gazed back at Draco. What she wasn't prepared for was how sad and surprised he looked.

"Your parents…"

"Are in Australia and don't know they have a daughter."

Draco pressed his lips together, as if to stop himself from prying, and Hermione cast her gaze away again. No, she hadn't been prepared for his sympathy...his empathy...at all.

"That's why the tree is so important," she continued to explain. "It's...my own little bit of Christmas. The one bit of my family I could manage to have for the holidays. It's...hope, I guess. Hopeful."

Draco found his voice. "And are you...orphaned by choice?"

"For the time being." Hermione was rather proud of herself for how steady her voice was at this point. "I'm going to go back for them someday. But it's too soon after everything right now. They're still in danger. _I'm_ still in danger."

She lifted her eyes to look at him again and saw how pale he was just then, how pinched his expression was.

"I'm sorry," Draco said, his voice rough.

Hermione, instead of responding with sarcasm, or scathing words, merely blinked at him. Then, gripping her mug a little more tightly and gazing away, she responded quietly, and her somber tone matched his note for note.

"Thank you."

* * *

Hermione woke up the next morning to a soft light filtering in her window and the realization that she'd slept through the night without any nightmares. Bemused at how well-rested and relaxed she felt, she got up leisurely, enjoying a few extra minutes to just lie abed and stretch, then shifted the bedclothes off and swung her feet to the floor. The cold floor beneath her feet shocked her into awareness and she took a deep breath of the crisp air as she padded over to her window.

Outside, big, fat, fluffy flakes of snow were drifting down at a lazy pace from a pale grey sky that hung low over the castle and grounds. And still, it was light enough to cast a wavering glow through the window panes even as the snow began to collect in the corners of the sill and along the leaded veins crisscrossing her view of the world. She heaved a sigh and leaned against the wall for a moment, a thoughtful look upon her face.

For once in her life, she didn't feel like doing anything. She felt listless, unanchored in her well-restedness, and the thought of snuggling up in the library or common room with a book held no appeal. _Maybe I'm depressed_ , she thought idly, and traced a finger along the seam of stones that framed the window. _Or maybe something has just gotten under my skin. Or someone._

The thought skittered across her consciousness like a bug, scurrying to find its way back into the dim corner from which it had been surprised. Pursing her lips, Hermione turned her back on the window. Whether it was seasonal depression, a mild case of loneliness, or sheer idleness that was causing this funny stupor to weigh her limbs down pleasantly and make her bed all the more appealing, she wasn't going to give into it.

It was snowing, and there were only two things to do when it snowed. One: snuggle under an afghan and nurse a hot cocoa and a book. As that held little appeal at the moment, Hermione was going to have to go with Two: get outside in the snow and stay there until everything under your coat is miserably wet and ice-cold, and your cheeks hurt from frost and laughing, and your breath comes hard and sharp into your lungs, reminding you you're alive and it's high-time to get inside and warm-up.

Resolutely, and ignoring the call back to her bed, Hermione began to hunt for her thermals.

It was only once she was at the doors that led out into the courtyard that Hermione realized she would be venturing out into the snow alone. She opened a door and trudged out to the edge of the overhang, still watching the flakes swirling down. They'd collected nicely in fluffy piles along the walls, benches, and statues, and she longed to go out and revel in it.

Except she was all alone. The snowball fights she'd been anticipating, the snowmen, the laughter at being caught trying to catch flakes upon her tongue...those were all things that she'd always done _with_ people. Not people: her friends. Now her friends weren't here, and she was wearing her thermals, and her coat, and her warmest knits, and her mittens, and her scarf, and even her stupid beanie hat, and she had no one with which to enjoy the escapades for which she was all decked out.

There was a shuffling noise behind her and she turned to look as best she could, weighted down as she was by the cold weather gear.

Draco Malfoy stood a few feet away and he was staring past her, out the open door, with the same sort of longing painted across his face as she was feeling just then. She took in his coat and gloves and the hat balled up in his hands and impulsively tipped her head back.

"I'm going for a walk in the snow."

Draco's gaze moved to her face and though she could see the way the corners of his eyes tightened warily, he only hesitated a moment before nodding.

"Need some company?"

"Need is hardly the word I'd use," she said, sending him a withering glance that somehow felt more teasing than anything else.

Draco's grey eyes ran across her face carefully and she felt that blush from the day before heating her cheeks again. She tried to keep her expression neutral, but pleasant.

"...want...?" he tried again, but quickly scoffed at himself. "Rather, _desperate_ for company?"

She waited a beat before answering.

"Clearly," she said, then turned and headed out across the courtyard without waiting for him.

The moment was so desperately reminiscent of all the times she'd left Harry and Ron behind in the dust - mentally or otherwise - that she felt a giddy sense of completion for the first time since she'd been back at Hogwarts all semester.

The feeling brought her up short so fast that Draco bumped into her. She felt his hands go to her shoulders to steady her and knew that if her blush hadn't been noticeable before, it would be now...and she couldn't even really feel his hands through all their layers of clothing anyway. She took a low breath and then gave her shoulders a shake. Draco took the hint quickly.

He didn't let the moment go, however.

"Something wrong?" he asked, his voice quiet.

She shook her head. "Just realized I forgot a sled."

"You want to go sledding?" His voice was so doubtful that Hermione laughed.

"And build snowmen, and have a snowball fight, and see if the lake is frozen over yet, and -"

"Get ourselves killed testing the ice? No, thank you." His voice was crisp and disapproving and reminded Hermione so much of her few interactions with his mother that she couldn't help a shudder of revulsion, followed by a quick bark of laughter.

He was too much. Attempting to be anything more than enemies long at a stalemate would never work. It would be exhausting, the constant balance between old memories and new experiences, between trying to see the good and remembering the utterly horrific.

Then again, if any of their trio could do it, she supposed she was the most suited for the task. The most even-tempered, practical, and patient of the group...

Nevermind that she'd essentially been doing the same thing with the whole of Hogwarts all year, either. That had no bearing on her suitability for making nice. So had all the students been overcoming similar obstacles. She wasn't special in that regard.

She could acknowledge, now, that some things were beyond her forgiveness and would require only an acceptance and then to forget, as best she could. Draco Malfoy, as it was turning out, wasn't a thing. He was a human being and she supposed she could suspend her disbelief - or ire, or whatever it was he roused within her - for the duration of the break.

She could give him a chance. Not that she'd ever admit that's what she was doing.

Beside her, Draco cleared his throat. "How about we start with the walk. Then we can move onto the more dangerous activities, if you're still up for it."

"Fair enough," Hermione replied. She eyed him as he jammed his hat down over his head, hiding his ears and mashing his bangs across his forehead. She smiled. One corner of his mouth quirked up in return when he caught her looking.

"Not that a walk was ever deemed a safe activity," she added to his previous comment. "This is Hogwarts, after all."

Draco rolled his eyes. "After you, Granger."

* * *

They didn't speak much and yet when they did, Hermione found the conversation more than she'd imagined it would be: more surprising, more intelligent, more relaxing...just _more_. It unnerved her by degrees until she found herself outright laughing at one of his snide comments and realized he was giving her the side eye because of it.

"It wasn't that funny," he said, and went back to patting snow around the base of the snowman he was building.

"No, it wasn't," she agreed, and wiped at her cheeks to try and get her mouth to straighten back out. It wouldn't. She shook her head at her whimsy and proceeded to put the finishing touches on the face of her own snowman. "But perhaps I needed a laugh," she added after another minute.

Draco grunted softly and kept at his task. After a few minutes, he got to his feet and brushed the snow from his knees. Then he straightened and gave Hermione's snowman a long look-over.

"Something wrong?" she asked casually, distracted as she was by attempting to stick pieces of flora and brush in the snowman's head to create hair.

"Is it supposed to be someone in particular?" Draco asked, with a doubtful tone in his voice.

"I - no, I don't think so," Hermione replied, but as she looked the snowman over she realized he did look somewhat like a real person. Perhaps even… She chewed on her lower lip for a moment and then stuck another twig into his head. "Albert Einstein?" she hazarded as a guess and Draco gave a gasp of laughter.

"Maybe," he admitted.

Hermione's head jerked up and she gazed at Draco with a renewed sense of wonder.

"You know who that is?" Again, that doubtful tone of voice, this time coming out of her mouth. Draco shook his head at her and then turned to pat down some of the features he'd stuck onto his own snowman's head.

"'Course," he replied. "He was a Squib - but brilliant in the Muggle world."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, of course. Anytime anyone is famously brilliant who's a Muggle, your lot automatically has to own them _somehow_."

"My lot is your lot now, too, Granger," Draco said casually, still fixing his snowman's expression.

Hermione couldn't help the automatic tense of her shoulders, the bristling sensation at having been lumped in with the group of people she'd only been able to consider deplorables for years, but she managed to hold back the retort that sprang to her lips and give him a second glance. He was still working at his snowman, focused on the task at hand, and by the relaxed lines of his face, insulting her was clearly the last thing he'd thought he was doing.

She found herself brought up short, staring at him in bewilderment. Not only had Draco just easily sidestepped what could have turned into an argument about Muggles and Wizards, he'd oh-so-nonchalantly associated her with himself, and not in a bad way. Generally. Permanently. As in, you're a witch, therefore you belong in this world, QED.

Instead of the argument she wanted to pursue - which was that Albert Einstein was of course _not_ a Squib - Hermione prickled some, unable to help the clipped tone of her voice while her lips fashioned an entirely different response than her suspicious mind had first thought.

"Yes. Have been for some time, in fact."

Draco huffed a little at that and continued to pat at his snowman. Then he lifted his gaze to hers so briefly she wondered if he'd even looked at her at all, or if she'd imagined that tired cast to his eyes, or the way his lips had turned down, as if he were fighting a wry smile.

"That's right," he said.

Hermione found herself adrift for what, if she were willing to admit it to herself, was the third or fourth time in just the last two days. Instead of following the urge to pick at the scab this particular conversation was revealing, however, she just shrugged slightly and allowed a beatific, magnanimous smile to grace her lips. Her tone of voice, if more sarcastic than her expression, didn't seem to faze Draco any.

"Thanks," she told him again, for the second time in as many days, and mostly meant it. Not because she required his validation, or even wanted it after all this time, but just because he'd been willing to acknowledge it at all, and because she was confident enough to accept it for the fact that it was.

Some courageous acts were smaller than others and Hermione was grown enough to see that much, and be appreciative of them, whether they were warranted or not.

* * *

A walk on the edges of the lake didn't happen - the second wave of the winter storm system that was covering Scotland and the North of England sent additional grey clouds over the school and grounds just as they were investigating the start of a snowball fight established by assorted Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. Hermione had just recovered nicely from a snowball coming to pieces over her shoulders and working its way between her muffler and her neck when Draco, still reeling from a snowball to the face, pointed out the gathering gloom above them. What little rays of sun had shone through earlier in the morning had been covered as a sheet of clouds that looked more like a gunmetal grey blanket pulled itself taut across the sky.

"Freezing rain," Hermione said, her voice thoughtful.

"More snow," Draco said, disagreeing. Hermione raised a brow at him and he shrugged. "I know weather patterns."

"That," Hermione replied patiently, pointing upwards, "is the color of clouds that are about to send down torrents of freezing rain."

Draco looked like he was about to argue more when someone nearby gave a gusty sigh at the same time another student swore loudly.

"Who cares if we get an ice storm or more snow?" one of the Hufflepuffs shouted. "Let's get inside!"

"Merlin, Gryffindors and Slytherins," another student muttered as the group began trudging away, towards the castle. "Hafta ruin everything with an argument. Can't even enjoy the bloody weather properly."

Hermione and Draco trailed behind the group, avoiding the sprays of snow the more enthusiastic students were kicking up in their hurry to attain shelter before the promised storm, regardless of the question of precipitation. It wasn't until they were almost upon the courtyard that Hermione realized Draco wasn't beside her any longer. She turned to look around and when she didn't see him right away, she almost started back out across the fields. The wind was beginning to pick up, lifting the topmost layer of snow and swirling it along the ground, while shaking great bales of snow from trees and the eaves of the castle alike. She narrowed her eyes, glancing about again, and was just debating cupping her hands to her mouth to call for him when she felt an odd prickling sensation on the back of her neck.

Turning around suddenly, she just caught sight of his pinched features and his pale eyes peering at her over the edge of his scarf. He was standing in the courtyard, a foot away from the great doors. She felt momentarily unbalanced and wondered when he'd surpassed her and why she hadn't noticed. She almost had the strange feeling that he didn't want to be seen with her, walking into the school, acting as if they were _friends._

Or perhaps he was giving her a chance not to be seen with _him._ That thought sobered her a great deal more, especially knowing what the rumor mill at Hogwarts was, and how quickly and terribly its wheels turned.

Well. This will never do, she decided. Before she could change her mind, Hermione found her feet were moving and she was marching across the courtyard with determined steps, never taking her eyes off of Draco. She came up to him with a few final stomps of her feet to shake the snow from her boots, and then waited. Draco's eyes had widened slightly at her and then he'd looked anywhere but her until she was directly beside him.

"Holding the door for me?" she asked, her voice far from sweet. The inherent accusation in her voice, the one that said, "why didn't you wait for me, you nincompoop," drew a reluctant half-smile from him.

"Hardly. Just making sure you didn't stay out here to freeze. I don't need anymore death threats than I already get."

His tone was mocking, making a joke of them both, but Hermione didn't laugh, or even smile.

"Well, thanks," she responded instead. She was still trying to puzzle out what had changed since their earlier interactions and why and was too bothered by the fact that she was bothered by it at all to do anything other than be practical. "Come on then, get inside. I need hot cocoa."

If Draco was surprised by the implicit inclusion in her statement, he didn't show it. He simply blinked those grey eyes at her in what she could only assume was agreement, burrowed the lower half of his face back into his muffler, and nodded his head to the door. When Hermione moved forward into the castle, he merely followed, and helped another student pull the great doors closed behind them.

* * *

A day passed, then two, then three. Christmas Day was nearly upon them before Hermione realized that in all her introspection, solitary hot cocoas, and burgeoning, _confusing_ acquaintanceship with Draco Malfoy, she'd forgotten to send her friends their Christmas presents. Ginny had taken hers, but in the midst of Hermione's determinedly preparing for a cheerful, if solitary, holiday, she'd neglected to either finish or wrap the gifts intended for Harry  & Ron and send them along as well. That was how Christmas Eve morning found her in the Owlery, trying to coax down one of the school owls with the treat of a leftover bran muffin.

A voice from behind her startled her for the second time in the last week, but instead of the rush of angry, fearful emotions that had accompanied the first encounter, this time Hermione felt uncomfortable for reasons she didn't want to fathom. Instead, she tried to pick through the sudden emotional haze and focus on what the voice in question had actually said. She realized it was a losing battle and finally let her arms drop, turning to face Draco.

"I'm sorry?" she said.

He looked...bemused, but also as uncomfortable as she felt. Uncomfortable at her finding the bemused look on his face, perhaps? Hermione tried not to dwell on that idea too much.

"I said, they don't work on Christmas Eve. And even if they did, no amount of a bran muffin is going to tempt them."

"Oh." Hermione shifted her weight some. Then she shrugged and walked closer to a window in order to toss the leftover muffin away. It was somewhat disappointing, but as she had no one to blame but herself, she couldn't be upset. It looked like her friends would just get their presents a little late.

Draco cleared his throat some and Hermione glanced back at him. "What are you doing up here, then?" she asked, suddenly curious. Draco flushed, but then gestured vaguely to the rafters.

"My owl. Just delivering a treat for him."

"Oh," Hermione said again. She looked him over for a moment, then brushed her hands free of any remaining crumbs and started back towards the exit, after tucking her small packages neatly under one arm.

His voice arrested her movement once more.

"Do you want to use him?" At Hermione's curious gaze as she swing back around to face him, Draco went on quickly, almost stumbling over his words. "The school owls are off for three days, but mine is, well, mine…" His voice trailed off and he glanced up, as if intent on escaping her gaze.

She followed his line of sight and saw a large, beautiful creature with golden and brown feathers. It blinked down at them almost lazily, but its head was tilted in an alert manner. Hermione smiled.

"Thank, you," she murmured. Tearing her gaze away from the owl, she met Draco's eyes again. "Thanks, but no. If his companions get a break, he should too."

There was a beat of silence and Hermione wondered if Draco was reading more into what she'd said - or if she'd intended to say more in the first place. It was getting hard to tell what she meant, when it came to him.

Finally, Draco seemed to come back to himself and he rolled his tongue around his mouth, licking his lips nervously as he carefully chose his response.

"That's generous of you," he said. His grey eyes held hers in silent conversation. His breath seemed to catch in his throat and his lips moved, as if he were going to say more - just that much more that needed to be said, to break the impasse they'd reached, but -

Another beat and Hermione smiled at him a little. Then she started moving again. The moment safely broken, she paused only at the door to turn and look back. Draco was standing there, one arm lifted in invitation to the owl, the other stretched out, with a treat for the creature sitting in the open palm of his hand. Hermione watched as the owl took the invitation and began its fluttering descent down to him. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, momentarily captivated.

Then she turned and made her way down the stairs, packages in her arms and heart beating a strange rhythm high in her chest.

* * *

Christmas Day came and went. The only thing that made it of any note was the small gift left under the tree Hermione had erected in the common room. When she finally noticed there was anything under her tree, late that afternoon, she was hesitant to inspect it, let alone take it.

It was Christmas, yes, but Hermione knew no Saint Nicholas had left her anything and after the years she'd already spent in Hogwarts, she was loathe to trust any mysterious packages lying around with one's name on them, season of giving or no.

Hermione stood back from the tree, warily eyeing the edge of the small package that peeked out from beneath dark green boughs. The paper was shiny and red and textured so that even just that one corner sparkled merrily in the firelight. With a funny little huff of laughter at her own anxieties, Hermione cast a detection spell anyway and waited...and waited...

And waited.

When nothing happened, she edged forward and toed at the package, accidentally pushing it further under the tree. Swearing softly, she finally dropped to her knees and fished around beneath the boughs until her hand came in contact with the erstwhile present. Feeling the corner of it, she closed one hand around it and pulled it out. Then she sat back on her heels and looked down at it.

The wrapping paper was as beautiful up close as it had been from afar and Hermione nibbled her lower lip. She almost hated to open it, the paper so obviously high-quality and the little gold ribbon tied about it in such an inviting bow, hanging at just the right angles along the front of it. She realized there was a tiny card affixed to the bow and she hesitated before prying it open with a fingernail. It was so small, her thumbs practically overwhelmed the sides of the card as she held it open.

 _For HG_ , it read in a light script. It was printed, but there was a delicacy to the lines of the lettering that spoke of...no, not education and privilege, although surely that had something to do with it. Instead, it reminded her of a hesitation, of indecision and caution. She smiled a little to herself, puzzled. Although she now had her suspicions as to who had left the gift for her, she still found herself arrested, unable to open it.

She found her mind unaccountably wandering, imagining a towheaded child, sitting with his mother, perhaps, and attempting to tie bows around Christmas gifts only to have the ribbons end up knotted about his fingers as he stuck his tongue out in concentration.

She wondered how he was as a child, in general. Had he gotten frustrated easily? Had his parents truly indulged his every whim, as had seemed evident all the years they'd been in school together? Or had being the son of a former and then current Death Eater carried its own set of societal and internal pressures to which no one else was privy?

Hermione played with the package on her lap idly, her fingers tracing the creases of the paper where it had been folded over so neatly, the crinkle of the ribbon where it lay knotted in a perfectly off-centered bow. She thought that maybe she understood a bit more about Draco Malfoy than she'd ever wanted to admit to Harry and Ron. Maybe he hadn't been so different from them for all those years.

Sighing a little, she finally stood up, taking the gift with her. Then she drew out her wand and waved it over the tree, dimming the lights, before she made her way out of the common room and towards her bed chamber. As she entered her room, she couldn't help wondering if she had any bits and baubles left from her excursions into creativity with her friends' Christmas presents. Perhaps I'd better check, she thought to herself, and set the unopened gift on her nightstand to go investigate her trunk. It was a little past midnight by the time she stumbled back to her bed, and as she laid her head down on her pillow, the not-so-anonymous gift winked merrily at her in the flickering candlelight.

She observed it for a moment with a rather grave manner, then sleepily murmured a spell, snuffing out the candle and sending the room into blessed darkness.

* * *

Boxing Day was a complete bust. Although it had long been Hermione's favorite day of the Christmas holidays, this year the freezing rain she had so vehemently predicted a few days prior descended upon the castle in full force. It drove all the students inside and around the fires in their common rooms, or better yet, snuggled back in their beds with warming spells uttered every so many minutes as the chill continued to penetrate the old stones despite the best efforts of the professors, Founders, and House Elves combined.

Nothing was happening.

Where Hermione and the other students had hoped to be able to make a trip to Hogsmeade, or at the least play outside in the snow again now that they were finally free from the pressures of Christmas day itself, instead they were stuck indoors with only a motley crew of fellow students for company. And as the houses were all sticking with one another, Hermione didn't even have the pleasure of other Gryffindors with which to commiserate. Instead, she was huddled back in the Eighth Years' common room, nibbling a nearly stale biscuit she'd secreted out of dinner two nights ago, and attempting to burrow further under the felted blanket adorning her lap. It was Molly's Christmas gift this year, in lieu of the sweaters she had grown used to, and while it wasn't what she'd expected, it was most welcome.

Oh, she could've gone traipsing off to the Gryffindor common room if she'd really wanted to, she knew that well enough. But it just wouldn't be the same without at least Ginny there.

Hermione gave the half eaten biscuit in her hands a disappointed look before setting it aside. Then she snuggled further under her blanket and gave a deeply unsatisfied sigh to the room at large. The room did not have further comment and so she closed her eyes and leaned her head back on the overstuffed cushions behind her, prepared for a catnap.

A moment later, she could hear the common room door open and close. There was a shuffling of feet as people entered the room and some scattered laughter, followed by a soft exclamation. The footsteps quieted, as did the voices, and Hermione opened her eyes. She glanced back over the cushions to see two students - some boys she didn't know very well - heading for the student rooms. Rolling her head back a little further, she saw Draco Malfoy.

He was hanging back from the other boys, hands casually stuck in his pockets, a book under one arm.

"Go on, be there in a tick," he said and one of the boys waved a hand as they disappeared down the hallway. Then, still looking after them, he walked around to the chair adjacent hers and sat down. When he finally looked at her, he gave a small start.

"Thought I was asleep?" Hermione murmured.

"I did," he replied. A slight blush was creeping up his cheeks.

That's interesting, Hermione thought. She roused herself some and sat up a little. "Going to take advantage of the moment and play a joke on me or something?"

Draco leveled one of the most condescending looks he had in his repertoire at her. "And here I thought you were the brilliant one."

Hermione decided to favor him with a smile. "I am. I'm also paranoid, but can you blame me?"

Draco looked down at his hands at that and shook his head a little. "No." After a moment, he lifted his gaze to her again. "I was…"

"It doesn't matter," Hermione said softly, interrupting him. She licked her lips, suddenly feeling unaccountably nervous. "Are you having a study group?"

Draco looked back towards the hallway. "Oh. Yeah." He looked back at her, a curious expression on his face. "I don't suppose...that is, we could come back out here. If you're not actually trying to sleep."

Hermione considered him for a few seconds. She took a deep breath. "I'm not," she finally said. "You can come back out."

Relief and...something else, something Hermione couldn't quite figure out, spread over Draco's features. He leaned forward and put his book on the table.

"Herbology. Chapter 6. Advanced properties of Aconite."

Hermione felt a brief sensation of unexpected pleasure at the implied invitation. Then she nodded and leaned over to pick up the book. Draco stood up again.

"I'll just go fetch the others."

"You'll want some parchment for notes," Hermione said, already thumbing through the book to the proper page.

Draco waved a hand in acknowledgement and was halfway across the room before Hermione glanced up and called after him again, arresting his movement.

"I know what I need to revise properly -" he began, his voice full of exasperation, but stopped when Hermione shook her head at him.

"No - I was just going to say...thank you for my Christmas gift."

Draco turned around fully and watched her for a few seconds as a flush spread over his face. He shoved his hands back in his pockets.

"Just some sweets," he murmured. "It wasn't much."

"White chocolates," she replied. "And candied fruits." She tilted her head thoughtfully, still regarding him, and he fidgeted a little.

"You didn't say you dislike chocolate, but you said it wasn't your favorite," he replied, trying to explain.

"I know. So, well...thanks. I appreciated it."

Draco hesitated, then turned away and Hermione almost called out again, but stopped herself at the last second. Her gift for him could wait. She didn't need extra eyes privy to...what? What sort of a moment did she think she and Draco Malfoy were going to have over an exchange of Christmas gifts?

Shaking her head at her bizarre fancies, she leaned back in her seat and returned her attention to the text in her hands. Soon enough Draco returned with the other boys in tow and additional parchment and quills. Introductions were made and then they settled in for the work at hand.

It wasn't like the old days, but it was a routine Hermione had slowly been growing accustomed to - relative strangers, new faces with a few old scattered in, with always their studies as the constant. The books and assignments and knowledge were what brought them together, allowing them to seam together their old lives and new. The years before the war and the months after.

Hermione sometimes wondered if it would always be this way from now on: never quite comfortable in their own skin, but at least they were relatively free to return to the work at hand - the work of being children and students, before the world came to rest on their shoulders again all too soon.

One of the boys cracked a joke about something and Hermione heard soft laughter erupt from the others. Strained though it might have been, it still brought a smile to her lips and she looked around the small group briefly, feeling nostalgic and fond and sad all at once. She found herself making a remark in return and earning more laughter and then, suddenly, it was alright.

Suddenly, they were in it together and - if not actual friends, then at least _teammates_ in the long process of healing.

Suddenly, life went on.

* * *

The penultimate night of the break, before the rest of the students returned, before everyone scurried to finish assignments and dalliances and whatever else they'd been up to over their holidays, Hermione tracked down Draco.

It had taken her a few guesses to finally find him in the Owlery, surrounded by moderately chilled air while the owls took refuge in their nests in the rafters, the air spelled warm about the tops of the eaves to protect them. Hermione supposed the chilly air below was meant to discourage students from using the space as a hideaway, or rendezvous point. It wasn't doing much to keep Draco away from the place, she thought to herself. As she approached his lone figure at one of the windows overlooking the grounds and the wide open skies, she nervously tucked some of her kinky curls back from her face before quickly shoving her hands back into her pockets to keep them warm...and to keep from reaching out and touching his shoulder.

She felt her face grow heated, but opened her mouth to speak his name anyway.

"Malfoy."

The figure stiffened some, but turned and Hermione had a slight smile bestowed upon her.

"Granger."

They stood, just looking at one another for a moment, and then Hermione fingered the small package in her left hand pocket once more before grasping it and pulling it out. She thrust it out before her, at him, and gave him a smile.

"Happy Christmas."

Draco's eyes widened a fraction of an inch and the smile he'd given her seemed to relax some, along with the set of his shoulders.

"So we're giving one another presents?"

Hermione swallowed thickly. Then she pursed her lips. "You started it." She shook her hand and the gift at him a little. "Go on, take it."

"So I did," Draco murmured, finally reaching out a hand and cautiously retrieving the gift. He brought it back to himself and stood there, holding it delicately in his slender fingers, looking at it with an expression of disbelief and...something Hermione couldn't quite place.

"Should I open it now?" he asked suddenly, lifting his eyes to hers, peering at her with those grey eyes through long lashes and Hermione swallowed again. She shrugged.

"You don't have to. Just wanted to make sure you got it."

"I see." His gaze drifted back to the present in his hands. "Well, it seems I have it."

A dismissal. Hermione tried not to frown, or let her feelings get the better of her. She shrugged again, thrust out her chin, and kept her voice as light and airy as possible.

"You do, so. I'll see you later," she said. Then she turned to go. She'd gone three steps when she heard a rustle behind her and the barest brush of fingers along her shoulder before the sensation was gone. She turned around again, trying desperately to keep the breath in her lungs as she was confronted with a Draco whose expression was one part troubled and two parts hopeful.

"Are you going to dinner?" he asked, his voice as breathless as she felt just then, and she could hear the clock striking the hour somewhere in the distance.

Hermione eyed him briefly before fixing her gaze on some point over his right shoulder. "I hadn't thought about the time, but I guess I am."

His facial expression danced with relief before relaxing back into his usual, pinched nonchalance.

"Save a seat for me, will you?"

Hermione found herself nodding before he'd even finished the question, or before she'd even fully considered the implications of such a casual, friendly exchange.

Friendly? Her mind taunted her. Friendly, she thought again to herself, more firmly.

She offered him a small smile before she could think better of it. "Of course."

His whole frame relaxed. "I'll be finished here in a few minutes," he replied. "Thanks."

Hermione nodded at him and turned to go. At the entrance, she turned her head to see him lifting an arm and that great, tawny owl flapping its way down to him. A small, letter-sized piece of parchment was held in his other hand. She felt another small smile creep across her lips, unbidden, and then she turned back, exited the now chilly space, and began her descent.

* * *

"So, you and Malfoy?"

Hermione gave a start and whipped her head around to look at the ginger-haired witch who was perched gracefully on the edge of her bed.

"Malfoy and I _what_?" she asked primly before turning back to her small desk and continuing to flip through her notes for Defense.

Ginny exhaled noisily. "You and Malfoy. Chumming around."

"And?" Hermione asked, not bothering to turn around again as she finally located the pages for which she'd been looking.

The bed frame creaked a bit as Ginny got off and came to stand next to Hermione. She idly reached up and tugged on one of Hermione's curls. Hermione's hand automatically came up to swat at her friend, who laughed some and danced out of the way.

"Just wondering if he's the one responsible for all the extra kinks in your curls since the start of break," Ginny said and Hermione cast a fierce glare at her.

"Are you here to study my notes, or not?"

"Merlin, Hermione, I haven't seen you in over two weeks. Don't you even want to catch up?"

"Not if catching up means gossiping," she said simply, then turned and leveled a stare at her lily-white, freckled, fiery friend. She crossed her arms and leaned back against her desk slightly. Ginny eyed her up and down, then shrugged and sighed.

"Fine. I take it that means the ferret hasn't conned you out of your knickers."

"Ginny, is that crass mouth all your own, or was it having six brothers that did in your manners?"

Ginny smiled sweetly at her, then bared her teeth. "All my own, I'm afraid."

"I thought so," Hermione retorted quickly, then turned back to the notes on her desk. "How was the Burrow?" she asked, changing the subject, and felt Ginny shift away from her.

"Surprisingly dull," Ginny replied. "All my brothers are...out of the house now," she offered as an explanation. "Everyone who could stopped by for Christmas Eve or Dinner, and the two days Harry and Ron were spared were fun, but otherwise it was so...quiet." She paused. "It reminded me of the year I was left at home alone."

"Our first year," Hermione said, looking at her friend.

"Yeah," Ginny replied. "That year was the strangest. It was sort of wonderful, at times, having Mum all to myself. She was different that year. You know?"

"Maybe it was you who was different," Hermione answered.

"Maybe," Ginny said, her voice thoughtful. "And now we're all a little different, aren't we?"

"We are," Hermione said. Finding the pages she needed, she lifted her books in her arms and gestured towards the door. "Let's go study in the common room," she said and Ginny hmphed a bit before gathering what few supplies she'd brought with her.

"Is that why?" Ginny asked her suddenly, on their way out of the small room. Hermione paused at the threshold and gazed at her, puzzled.

"Why what?"

"Is that why you've been chumming around with Malfoy?" Ginny explained patiently. "Because we're all a bit different, and that includes him, somehow?"

Hermione took a sharp breath, wary and guilty and irritated all at once. Then she shook her head, letting the breath out in a laugh.

"Ginny, stop fancying things. And if I have noticed he's a bit different in the space of a fortnight, it hardly matters. He's just a boy."

A boy who used to give you nightmares, a small voice in her head reminded her. But were those nightmares ever really about him, or more about the things his family represented and the evil people they served?

Ginny smiled suddenly, somewhat sheepish. "He is, isn't he? Just a boy. Merlin, I must have been bored over break to be so ready to invent things now." Then she waggled her eyebrows at Hermione suggestively. "However, if, for instance, you were chumming around with a _man_ like Walter Krum, or -"

Hermione laughed again and interrupted her. "Go on. Let's get in another hour, or you're going to regret it during Defense tomorrow."

Ginny nodded gratefully and preceded her down the hall towards the common room, chattering happily again about those few snatched hours with Harry over the break; and the awful sweater her Mum had knit again this year; and how woefully unprepared she felt for the start of term again, despite her high marks before the holidays.

Hermione half-listened, feeling strangely content despite the way her heart had sped up at Ginny's lewd suggestions.

* * *

The next time Hermione saw Draco, outside of catching a glimpse and attempting to wave during meals, he was walking purposefully down the hall towards her. Rather, he was moving in the opposite direction she was and so he couldn't help but see her.

Except he didn't look at her at all...which Hermione took as a direct challenge. She gave him a small smile and a quiet hello, even as her gaze took him in fully. His face was more pinched than normal, his pallor beyond pale, and his eyes were wide and angry. When he didn't respond, Hermione pursed her lips and thought her options through very briefly.

Then she stepped into his path.

"I said hello, Malfoy. Or are we not on speaking terms again?"

Draco looked startled, then, and his gaze traveled down to where she'd put out a hand to his shoulder, stopping him, before he snapped his eyes back up to hers.

He looked as though he wanted to argue, just for a moment, before he drew a sharp breath and forced a more relaxed expression over his face. Not that it fooled Hermione for a minute, but she wasn't about to pry.

Much.

"Sorry. Something on my mind."

"A big something," she replied. Her eyes flicked down to where he held a crumpled piece of parchment in one hand. When she looked back up at him, she found him staring at her intently.

"Not really that big, no," he murmured. "Granger -"

Just then, the fiery redhead left in Hermione's life called out her name.

"Hermione! I thought I'd find you in the library by now - we are still meeting…" Ginny's voice trailed off as she looked between the two of them. She pressed her lips together, then brightened her face with a smile. Hermione could tell she was determined to be cheerful, much as she still loathed the idea of a redeemed Malfoy.

"Hullo, Malfoy. Are you coming too?"

Draco looked thoroughly confused by that point and Hermione pursed her lips again to avoid laughing at him.

"No," Hermione began, at the same time Draco said, "Yes."

She whipped back to face him, certain her expression carried more questions with it than he'd ever be able to answer.

"We're just meeting to discuss our notes -" she began.

"Yes," Draco reiterated, not letting her finish. "I'll go grab my things and meet you there. The library, you said?"

"Third row of tables from the back," Ginny said sweetly, her gaze never wavering from Draco's pale features while Draco, to Hermione's surprise, kept his gaze on Ginny as well. Only as he began to move past them did his eyes flash over her once more, so quickly she couldn't be certain they'd even made eye contact. Then he was gone down the hallway, his robes billowing behind him.

Hermione shook her head and turned to look at Ginny, only to find the redhead looking after Draco with a thoughtful, appreciative expression on her face.

"I guess I can see it," she finally said, looking back at Hermione.

Hermione frowned. "Ginny -"

"What? He is good looking, if you go for the pale, pointed type, I guess. I mean, he's not dissimilar to Ron, really. Tall, skinny, great cheekbones -"

"Ginny!"

Ginny snorted in an attempt to hide her sudden burst of laughter and Hermione smacked her shoulder.

"You are incorrigible!"

"Oh, please, tell me I'm wrong -"

"That's not how it is -"

"The tension between you two is like _sludge_."

Hermione tossed her hands up. "Ugh! Let's just get to the library. Thanks so much for inviting him, by the way."

Ginny sniffed, and looked incredibly smug.

"Please, Hermione. _Really_. I just did you a _favor_."

Hermione harrumphed again and then turned, stomping her way down the hall toward the library and Ginny followed close behind, sniggering quietly to herself the whole way.

* * *

Two hours later, Ginny was conveniently remembering she'd promised to meet up with some Quidditch teammates before curfew, packing her things, and heading out of the library. Hermione barely had time to say goodbye and remind her to look over her notes again before class the next day before the other girl was practically prancing down the aisle away from them.

"Honestly," Hermione muttered. "She's more dedicated than Ron ever was to schoolwork, but still…"

"Jealous?" Draco asked without looking up from his own notes. Hermione turned back and eyed him disbelievingly.

"Am I jealous of what?"

Draco gave a soft snort. "That she has a life outside of the books."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "If you'd like to be friends, that's fine, Malfoy. But please don't harbor any delusions about my recreational time."

"Don't you mean illusions?"

"No, I meant what I said," she replied, a little more sharply than she'd intended. It wasn't the first time someone had implied that all she ever did was revise and that was somehow a bad thing, but for some reason it hurt a little more coming from a boy who appeared to be just as devoted to his studies.

"Please, enlighten me on your word usage, then," he said, straightening up to meet her gaze and toss his quill down on the table.

Hermione was quiet for a moment, then shook her head. "It doesn't matter," she murmured. "Come on, it is late. We should probably pack up, too."

"No." His voice was clear and firm and he crossed his arms. "What did you mean by delusions?"

Hermione looked back at him, feeling a little piqued. "Just that. I don't need people deciding to be my friends because they think somehow they are helping me, or are going to provide me with some enlightenment about how I spend too much time with books and not enough time socializing, or wasting time on activities I don't even like. If the only reason you're here right now is to convince me to 'come out of my shell,' then no, thank you. You're only deluding yourself."

One corner of Draco's mouth quirked up and then he shrugged. "Like I'm one to talk, anyway," he said.

Hermione, a little astonished he had given in so easily, shrugged in return. "Well. I wasn't going to say anything."

"But you'd have been right if you had," he replied. "Besides which, I like you just the way you are."

Hermione stared across the table at him, unsure of what to say. He didn't mean...he couldn't mean…

Draco seemed to sense her floundering and why, because a sudden stain spread across his cheeks and he began grasping for some kind of explanation.

"I just mean I'm not - I don't want to try and change you, because - you're brilliant. You know? And that's alright with me. I don't need -"

Hermione felt her lips begin curving and a flush of her own spreading over her skin. She decided to save Draco from himself before her heart could start fluttering like mad again.

"Never mind," she said firmly. "We really have been here too long already. Come on. Get your things."

Draco returned her gaze in a surprisingly steady manner, despite the stain on his cheeks, before he shook his head.

"No."

"No, what? You're going to stay and revise a little more?"

At her reply, his expression shifted, became almost sardonic and...affectionate? She pursed her lips and continued to put her things away.

"No, as in no, I'm not going to go along with you in order to avoid whatever hole I've just dug for myself. In fact, I'm planning on jumping in," he said.

Then he smiled a little and it softened his features so well that Hermione could almost convince herself that he was just a boy and she was just a girl and that they were just two kids about to have a very awkward conversation. She stopped putting her things away and gave him a prim look.

"Well, don't expect me to help you climb out."

"No, you wouldn't, would you?" he replied and continued to smile.

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to finish what is surely going to be the most ridiculous conversation of our mutual careers, or are you just going to toss witty repartee back and forth with me the rest of the evening?"

Draco drew his lower lip between his teeth briefly, then inclined his head and brought a crumpled piece of parchment to the table. Hermione realized it must be what he'd been holding earlier, in the hallway, and her curiosity grew. She met his gaze again and found the smile had slipped from his face, replaced by a rather more sober expression. He smoothed the parchment out, but kept his fingers splayed across it, hiding most of the writing. His eyes seemed to focus on it involuntarily and he started talking.

"The truth is, Hermione, that I do like you just the way you are. I can't say I always have, or that whatever grudging respect I held for you wasn't wrapped up and twisted with the brainwashing of my upbringing, but when you and I...over Christmas…" His voice trailed off and he shrugged slightly before lifting his eyes to her face again. "I _like_ you."

Hermione felt her mouth go dry, but she was far from at a loss for words. It was more that she couldn't get out everything she suddenly wanted to say at once. Except if she didn't say it all at once it might never get said.

"I think I knew that," she admitted finally. She allowed herself a small moment of brave uncertainty. "Or at least, I think I might like you, too."

Draco made a noise that might have been a laugh, but Hermione couldn't quite tell. She gave him a gentle smile.

"Sorry I can't be more specific."

He immediately waved a hand, dismissing her apology. "No, please don't. Merlin, no. I'm not asking how you feel about me, or trying to pressure you, or anything. I just...if we're going to keep doing this... _friendship_ , or acquaintance, whatever it is, then you need to know my...intentions are not entirely innocent." He hesitated, nervously smoothing the parchment again. "You deserve to know."

"Your intentions?" Hermione asked, leveling her best McGonagall impression at him. Draco almost laughed again.

"Maybe that's not the best word. I don't intend to do anything about it, other than keep spending time with you now and then, if you'll allow it. I just mean…"

"You have feelings for me."

If Hermione was surprised at how steady her voice was as she said it aloud, then Draco was stunned. Stunned, but relieved. He gave a short nod.

"Yes."

The cogs in Hermione's ever-overactive brain clicked and whirred with this new information and she suddenly couldn't stay quiet.

"You wrote your parents about it, didn't you?" she asked.

Draco raised his brows, then gave a resigned sigh.

"Essentially."

"And they didn't like it."

He shook his head once.

"But you don't care."

He hesitated for a moment, but shook his head again. Then he crumpled what surely must have been the offending correspondence between his slender digits.

"You're worth it," he finally said, as if it was all the answer she'd ever need. In some ways, it was. She'd never thought, after all, that someone like Draco would admit that she was worth anything, let alone worth liking, and worth being friends with, at the risk of alienating family and friends.

Hermione sat back in her chair and looked him over - really looked him over.

Ginny was right; he was handsome. Aside from the hair and eyes and of course, the distinct lack of freckles, he wasn't so different from boys she'd liked in the past. Not to mention he was more her intellectual equal than some of the other boys who'd caught her eye. Even Ron, for as brave and clever as he was at times, couldn't sit still and just read for longer than thirty minutes without needing to say something, or tug her hair, or snack incessantly.

She'd be lying to herself if she said she wasn't at least attracted to him on a superficial level.

She'd be lying if she said being in his presence the last few weeks hadn't made her blush.

Hermione crossed her arms and continued to stare at him thoughtfully. Draco, for his part, seemed content to wait for a reply. His gaze flicked from her to the parchment to all around the library as he waited and the stain on his cheeks deepened some, but he didn't appear uncomfortable. Instead, he seemed...patient. Maybe a little resigned. Hermione cleared her throat and his eyes snapped back to her.

"Alright," she said.

His eyes widened slightly. "Alright? Alright, what?"

"Just...alright. You've told me how you feel. I'm not entirely sure how I feel. But that doesn't mean we need to stop being friends, or whatever."

Draco gave a larger, longer laugh at that and pushed one hand up and through his hair. "You took this a lot better than I thought you would," he said.

Hermione offered him a wry smile. "After everything I've been through, it's hardly the worst thing I've faced. Doesn't even rank, really." She wrinkled her nose at that and Draco laughed again.

"Thanks, Granger. Glad I have your vote of...not-the-absolute-worst."

"You're welcome. Now, can we get out of here?"

He smiled again and some kind of tension seemed to lift from his shoulders.

"Absolutely." He suddenly grinned at her and raised his brows again. "Want to go crash a quidditch party?"

"No," Hermione replied firmly. "I want to go back to our common room, have cocoa, and do some leisure reading before bed."

Draco shrugged. "It was worth a try."

"Don't be an idiot."

Draco laughed at her almost-affectionate insult and then stood up, gathering his items quickly. When they left the library together moments later, it was in a companionable manner: moving side by side as Draco matched her stride and Hermione shot down every suggestion he continued to make for prolonging the evening, amidst shared laughter and mild exasperation.

* * *

Christmas was never the same for Hermione. And the Springtime, when leaves unfurled and gentle winds carried the scent of new flowers, would always hold a special place in her heart.

That tentative, cautious relationship grew and blossomed as surely as the Hogwarts grounds that year. As surely as the British wizarding world rebuilt itself. As surely as Hermione's parents forgave her and moved back into her life more readily than she'd ever hoped they would.

Her friendship with Draco became the poster child for redemption and unity. It became the foundation for so much more than friendship. It became a sore spot, too, amongst many for a long time.

Fortunately, grandchildren tended to fix a multitude of wrongs; and by the time great grandchildren were even a question, it was as if the pair had been together forever.

To Hermione, that's how it felt at times. To Draco, he'd never stop insisting that every day with her was brand new.

And so, Christmas came and went, and came and went. Ornaments for their tree came and went as well, as they grew too old to be used, or broke, or were given away to friends and family, except for the constant that was the small bauble Hermione had made for Draco that first Christmas so long ago.

And the boy who'd startled her one night in their common room - the boy whose voice had once haunted her dreams - the boy who grew up to understand his wrongs and attempt to correct them - came into her life with startling, unexpected clarity and never, ever left it.

* * *

 **Et fin**


End file.
